Fear was my first glimpse of life.
Walking down a dusty road with stones that grow on soil.
Protrudes felt by tiny feet; a twist and a tug as I kept in step.
Walking to a house called home, from my father's store.
A not-so-convenient distance in the dark, off to the beaten path track.
Walking with me clutching on to Mother's flowing skirt,
Carrying my sister on her left arm, in her right hand a flashlight.
Walking on in suppressed silence, threatened by what I had heard.
Mindless chatters made by Father's tinderas and tinderos,
of spirits lurking in the great mango tree at the coming bend.
Wished it had lurked in the mango tree,
If I had seen it hanging there in white,
It wouldn't have crept in to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you for dropping by. I would so love to read your comments.